Tiny is putting me through my paces these last couple of weeks.
That little innocent face? Yes. That little person, hamming it up for the cameras, has been a complete and utter whirlwind of mischief.
First stop - weeing on the Doctor's bed in the morning.
When asked why she did this - her response: "I couldn't see the toilet."
Second stop - a number two not in the loo - in the bathtub, together with a bath towel and a bath mat. The girl is gross.
She did not even deny this.
Third stop on this whistle stop tour of havoc - this time - a jolly big wee on her bed.
And today friends, I went to pick the Doctor up from school - I pulled the scooters out of the boot because I thought - what the hey - it will be fun! Tiny rode her scooter all of 1 metre, then threw herself on the ground and chucked an almighty wobbly. Almighty in the sense that every other parent who walked past gave me that knowing look, and I almost listed her on eBay. Yes. That kind of almighty look.
At home she's been turning her bedroom into a librarian's nightmare by tossing all her books all over the floor. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Together with a nice mix of clean and worn clothes. I've given up assessing whether the clothes need washing or not, fold half of them and toss the others into the wash.
Then there's the kamikaze attacks on the Doctor. I arrived home from work last week to find the Doctor sporting a hefty bite mark on his cheek. Seriously?
And on a separate day, the smalls were in the bath, I walked in to find the Doctor completely covered in scratch marks, and Tiny reclining at the other end of the bath. They now have separate baths because they fight too much.
What is going on with Tiny? Do I need an intervention? Or just a holiday?
I know. You read it right. I am completely hooked on exercise. I have rarely ever been so excited to get out there, but there you have it.
I am so hooked on exercise that I've started waking up before my alarm goes off.
I am so hooked on exercise that it's started infiltrating my dreams.
I dreamt my sister had exercise gear on sale (neither of my sisters are sportswear retailers?!) - and that besides flicking through a rack full of size 10s (RATS!) - I found a pair of exercise tights that were made from the most magnificent fish scale looking fabric. Rainbow fish scale looking fabric.They reminded me of the Rainbow Fish book (pictured). Immediately I grabbed them. And started inventing excuses to exercise just so I could wear them. (They were kind of like these, but more purple. And they could breathe).
My usual exercise gear entails a pair of black Target leggings and one of Matt's tees.
But these fish-scale tights. My oh my.
I woke up totally enthralled and told Matt we just had to go looking for them.
Of course we never found them.
But if you spy some fish-scale tights, please do let me know. Apparently they are the magic key to me continuing on my love affair with breaking out a sweat.
Peeps, I'm concerned! You think I really keep a s/sheet of my Facebook friends. Are you ker-azy? I work 4 days a week, I have to read 6 pages of school notes. I have two children and a husband, and a truckload of washing to get through, biscuits to bake, beds to make, showers to have, make-up to apply, phone calls to make, groceries to shop for, must I go on? And you think I really have time (and want) to compile a spreadsheet of my FB friends! How OCD do you think I am? Allow me to introduce you to satire. (Perhaps I need to hone my craft a little more.)
